


A Pirate's Life For Me

by vaguelyaperson



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Historical Hetalia, Mild Gore, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Pirate England (Hetalia), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-02-24 08:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguelyaperson/pseuds/vaguelyaperson
Summary: Arthur Kirkland was not having a good week. It was such a not-so-good week that events had unfurled into him becoming a pirate. He had his reasons. At the time, these were good reasons. But consequences catch up eventually.





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur Kirkland needed a drink.

He had forgone his uniform, wig and all, and successfully slipped unnoticed into the local tavern. Only the bartender and one wench recognized him, the bartender allowing him privacy at the far end of the bar, where the lighting wasn’t sufficient enough for people to notice him, the wench trying to catch his eye.

Throwing back his second drink, Arthur rubbed at his temples and tried to forget the day’s events. Floggings and hangings weren’t unusual. He had long lost count of the punishments doled out by the Royal Navy. But he couldn’t forget the skin and bone of these men, and their drawn, swallow faces. They had mutinied out of starvation, their pay delayed and lagging for over a year.

Arthur knew these men. He knew all of his men. Twelve of them had lost children in the month before the mutiny, because they weren’t able to send money home. One man’s young pregnant wife had perished from disease and starvation. The men themselves didn’t fare any better.

Today, Arthur watched as the leaders of the mutiny were hung. Their families, if they were struggling before, were damned now. The followers of the mutiny didn’t receive much better. It was considered merciful that they were only subject to seventy two lashes.

Load of hogwash. Half of the men who had been flogged were already infected, and as weak as they were, were likely on their deathbeds. Hanging, if not done right, was a slow death as it was. Dying of blood loss and infection was another story.

So here Arthur was, sitting at the dark end of the bar, buying a third drink. Usually his low tolerance was a curse, but at the moment, the less rum it took to wash his memory clean, the better.

He was starting to achieve that end, when he heard the unmistakable click of a pistol behind his head.

Things were going swimmingly.

“You’re coming with us.”

Arthur lolled his head to glance behind him at his would be assaulters.

He recognized the two men right away, as fuddled as his brain was becoming.

Both ragged, smelly, likely imbibed just as much rum as Arthur did, men were pirates under Arthur’s self-proclaimed nemesis. Captain ‘Red Stain’ as he liked to call himself. (Edgar Moore wasn’t all that threatening of a name, after all.) Usually, Captain ‘Red Stain’ didn’t do much to garner enough of Arthur’s attention. The man and his crew were only good for their elaborate escapes. Arthur had already arrested the man twice, and seen him miss the gallows both times.

Arthur sighed.

“I’d like to finish my drink.” He said, turning back to his mug.

The pirate pressed his pistol against Arthur’s head.

“Now. Captain’s given me full permission to blow your head off if you don’t.”

Arthur glanced around. Not very many people there were paying attention. The costs and benefits of sitting in a secluded area. But the bartender and the hopeful wench had noticed, and both were staring wide eyed.

“Very well then,” Arthur tossed a few coins onto the bar, and then slowly stood up, the pistol still aimed at him. “I wouldn’t want to subject these bystanders to such a display.”

While Arthur would have liked the dignity of walking himself into whatever harebrained plot of revenge that Captain ‘Red Stain’ had come up with this time, his captors decided that he needed to be restrained. So the two men grabbed Arthur’s arms and walked him out of the tavern. The three stuck to the shadows as the moved down towards the docks, and then took a left and made a long, long walk out to where the pirate’s ship was anchored. Out of sight from the town. Captain ‘Red Stain’ likely wanted to make this as quiet as possible.

Naturally, Arthur suspected that the other members of the Navy would be on his trail in an instant, the pirates would be captured, and he’d get to witness what new spectacle Captain ‘Red Stain’ had planned for his third, eventual escape.

This would be over quickly, and maybe then, Arthur could lie down.

In the meantime, Arthur geared himself up for another monologue.

What he wasn’t expecting, the moment he was brought forward to the Captain, was for Captain ‘Red Stain’ to once live up to his name. He didn’t bother with any semantics, and didn’t even offer a cup of obviously poisoned tea. At once, the Captain barked out, to his surrounding crew, a quick succession of ‘aim, fire!’

And Arthur died.

What a splendid end to the day.

 

* * *

 

 

Being riddled with bullets, it took Arthur half a day to regenerate.

He found himself among the rocky shore of the island’s cliffside, likely where the pirates had dumped his body, and it was a wonder he hadn’t been dragged out to sea by the tide. Or maybe, when Arthur noticed that his clothes were damp in such a way that could not be entirely blamed on the humidity, they had dumped his body overboard and this was where he washed onto shore.

His chest and head, having faced the full brunt of the attack, and recovering from a hangover, were still aching. But nevertheless, Arthur’s first priority was to find the town. There he would acquire himself a boat.

He decided then and there that if Captain ‘Red Stain’ was ready to play a serious game, then Arthur would kindly oblige him.

Arthur opted out of flying under British colors. He found the captain easily enough. There was a report of a pirate docking at a small, impressionable town some miles away, on another island. Arthur arrived there in short time, having chosen a discreet and quick sloop.

It was a bit fun to watch all the pirates’ scurvy scarred faces turn a ghostly white when Arthur waltzed onto their ship. He may have flaunted the terror he caused them by wearing his waistcoat unbuttoned and a loose fitting shirt, so that they could all see his unscarred body. Sometimes revealing to mortals that he couldn’t completely die was a hassle. This time it was practically a game. No one made any move to stop him.

Just to return the favor, Arthur did not bother with speeches or truces. He just called Captain ‘Red Stain’ out of his cabin, and then gave the captain an outfit to truly suit his name.

 

* * *

 

 

The commodore sighed a long, tired sigh, reached for his glass of wine, and then gave Arthur his best attempt at a disproving glare.

His commanding officer had learned of Arthur’s trip in very short time. And now the commodore was trying his best not to look pleased, but this wasn’t the first time Arthur had objected to or tested the boundaries of the law.

So Arthur was standing in front of the commodore’s desk, there to receive his due lecture.

“I cannot say that you have not done us a service, to be rid of an already twice condemned man, but Mr. Kirkland… even you are not allowed to dole justice outside of the law.”

Arthur tipped his chin up, not regretting his actions.

“And to hear that you did this out of revenge… you do understand the severity of your crime, and what punishment you would likely receive if you were an average citizen, correct?”

“Correct, sir.”

The commodore shook his head. “Alright, I don’t have anything more to say on the matter. Just… restrain from such conduct in the future. Let the court handle these matters. We have a reputation of civilized justice to uphold.”

Arthur frowned, the memory of the hangings and floggings still fresh in his mind. Some justice.

But he was not there to cause more trouble for himself, so Arthur replied with an obedient, “Understood, sir.”

“Thank you. You may be dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur made his way to his current favored tavern, planning to sit in his corner, and tell the bartender to not let anymore stragglers bother him.

But, and he really should have anticipated his bad luck of late, he was intercepted by one of the men from Captain ‘Red Stain’s’ crew. He knew this man to be the quartermaster. The quartermaster had always unnerved Arthur, being one of the few men on the ship who didn’t look or smell like he had slept the night in a flooded pig pen. His sun tanned skin had few blemishes, and he had inquisitive dark brown eyes that many of his illiterate shipmates lacked. Arthur had wondered a time or two why the men had not named him their captain. He had always seemed much more capable, and deadlier.

Of course, he had likely assumed the role of captain now. There was really only one reason he would have bothered to come onshore to the same island his former captain had left Arthur.

If Arthur wasn’t so tired, as he later had convinced himself, he would have reacted quicker. His hand flew to his cutlass, but a blade was already in the quartermaster’s hand, and then it was in Arthur’s chest.

“Nothing personal,” the quartermaster said as he withdrew. “Just curious.”

But Arthur barely heard what the quartermaster said, because Arthur died. Again.

 

* * *

 

 

This time, Arthur awoke on what was the unmistakable lump of a straw mattress. He opened his eyes to a dark, confined room, lit only by a single lamp to the left of him.

He groaned as he sat up, and immediately his gaze landed on a figure sitting opposite him on an old wooden chair.

It was the quartermaster. Or, captain, rather, as the man likely was now. The man’s head was tilted, and he studied Arthur was an almost innocent expression.

Arthur went to grab a weapon, but noticed that he was stripped of everything but his shirt and trousers. Even his wig was missing. He ran his hand through his loose, ragged hair. He checked himself over for any other sign of thievery or torture, and other than his also missing purse, he found nothing suspicious.

“Interesting. That took less time than I thought it would.”

Arthur’s attention snapped back to the quartermaster-turned-captain.

Right. A mortal had just discovered he wasn’t an apparition – or whatever the pirates had assumed Arthur to be when he boarded their ship. Wait, what was it that the man had said? Something about just being curious?

Great, one of those people. Arthur swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The pirate made no move to stop him.

“Where did you put my effects?”

“I have a few questions.”

Arthur groaned again. For certain, one of _those_ people. He and his belongings were being held hostage by a man who fancied himself as a scientist. Well, as long as the man didn’t try to assault him again, Arthur figured he might as well amuse the pirate for a moment. It was probably easier than getting into a fight and risk getting himself fatally injured for a third time that week.

“Before you ask, I am not possessed by the devil, nor did I find the fountain of youth.”

“A former shipmate of mine told me of another man like you. Unable to die. A Frenchman. He met the man as a cabin boy, and then again as an adult. The Frenchman hadn’t changed at all.”

Arthur shifted his eyes to the side and exhaled. Francis really needed to be better about not flaunting himself around mortals.

“You know of this Frenchman?” The pirate asked.

“Unfortunately.” Arthur said.

“And he’s like you?”

“Also, yes, unfortunately.”

And then, the question Arthur had been anticipating, “How?”

Arthur crossed his arms. “My immortality has nothing to do with any attainable magic. Trust me, I should know. And even if I did know how to turn someone immortal, I would decline the opportunity. Ghastly life to be immortal, as it were. You are not the first person to kill me out of ‘curiosity,’ and you will not be the last. I fancy that you’re not interested in such affairs.”

The pirate’s eyes widened a fraction. “Oh, no, you misunderstand me. I have no interest in becoming immortal myself. I don’t ever wish to be the subject. Of anything. The attentions afforded to a captain are too arbitrary. It’s too consuming a position. I only wish to observe.”

Arthur’s brows drew together as understanding dawned on him. “I am not becoming your new captain, if that’s what you’re after.”

The man tilted his head again, to the other side. “Why ever not?”

“For starters, in case you have not noticed, I am loyal to the Crown.”

“Which is why you went outside of the law.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “I have no intention of committing treason or piracy.”

“I think you would have quite a talent for it.”

“I killed your former captain!” Arthur snapped. “You and your crew would turn on me in an instant.”

The man frowned, his eyes sad as if Arthur had offended him. “Only if you did anything worth removing you of power. I am but a true pirate. My loyalties lie in whoever earns my respect. My former captain was questionable, to all of us. If not you, someone would have rid of us of him eventually. You have proven yourself quite an opponent… and you fascinate me. You have my respect.”

Arthur blinked slowly, trying to map out how he had found himself in this situation. Alright, he really did not have time for this.

“Well, forgive me if I do not wish to be respected by a man who stabbed me out of ‘ _curiosity_.’”

The apparent reluctant captain stood. He turned around, shifted his chair to the side, to reveal a square in the wall. He pushed the square in, and to the side, and fished out Arthur’s clothes, weapons, and money. He held out everything to Arthur.

“Why don’t I buy you a drink, let you punch me in the face, for your troubles, and we call it even?”

Arthur stared at the pirate captain long and hard, not touching his belongings. There was not a hint of deception, as far as Arthur could tell. He slowly accepted his things, checked to make sure everything was returned to him. He dressed, keeping an eye on the pirate.

Still, the pirate did nothing threatening.

“That an honest offer?” Arthur asked.

“Of course.”

Arthur considered it. “Very well then.”

He drew his fist back and threw as much of his strength into his blow as possible, effectively knocking the pirate unconscious. This time, Arthur wouldn’t be the one waking up with a headache.

Retribution felt good.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur was a gentleman, so he had waited for the pirate captain to wake. And then he had the man follow through on his promised drink.

It wasn’t until he was half way through his free mug of rum that he thought to ask the man his name. Or that he even noticed how young the man appeared to be. When Arthur had a closer look, and in better lighting, he realized that the new captain couldn’t be more than twenty, maybe even eighteen.

The boy captain, as Arthur now realized he was, shrugged. “Everyone calls me Patches.”

“Patches?”

Patches hummed in affirmation. “My dad was a pirate of our ship, my mum his fallback lover when he was onshore. He didn’t know I was born. When the crew found me, my clothes were so full of patches, you couldn’t tell what the original fabric was.”

The factual tone with which Patches relayed all this information threw Arthur off. It was as if he had described the weather, and not his estranged, impoverished upbringing. Weren’t mortals supposed to be a sentimental lot, taken with the miseries of their everyday life?

“Your mother didn’t give you a name?” Arthur asked.

“She did.”

“… And?”

“That’s my business.” 

Arthur took a sip of his drink. “Very well. I can respect that. Captain Patches it is then.”

The boy’s eyes darkened, and Arthur scooted back a moment before he realized that the mortal boy didn’t pose an actual threat.

“I do not wish to be the captain.”

“You made that point, already, yes.”

The air around Patches lightened then, his expression again became innocent.

“Shall we have another round?” Patches lifted his mug.

“On you?”

Patches produced a couple coins from his sleeve. Arthur then noticed that he couldn’t see a purse anywhere on Patches’ person. At least he was a talented pirate. Captain ‘Red Stain’ liked to flaunt the wealth of his plunders.

The bartender eyed Arthur’s company, but when Arthur gave a reassuring nod, the bartender left them alone to their drinks.

Half way through his next drink, and Arthur could already feel the effects, another question dawned on him. He leaned against the bar and stared at Patches.

“That was very impulsive of you… to stab a stranger like that. What would you have done if I wasn’t immortal?”

Patches didn’t even take a moment to consider. He answered over the rim of his mug, “Then you would be dead and be of no further interest to me. But the chances that you would actually die were slim, and so I willfully acted on my own curiosity.”

Arthur set his mug down and watched as Patches took a sip. He narrowed his eyes. “I know with your… profession, death isn’t foreign… but do you make a habit of that?”

“Of what?”

“Killing people out of curiosity?”

“No.” Patches glanced over at Arthur. “If there is no reason for me to kill someone, then why would I do it?”

“Ah. Do you avoid needlessly killing people, then?”

“Of course. Dead people create such a number of consequences that I would rather not deal with.”

“I see.”

Maybe it was the rum that was slowly befuddling all sense of judgment Arthur normally had, but he couldn’t help but to feel a mutual fascination with Patches. His earlier annoyance was slowly dissipating and being replaced with a reluctant enjoyment of his company. Patches still unnerved him, but maybe that was only adding to his interest. Mortals rarely left such a bold impression on him, after all.

He accepted a third, and then a fourth round of drinks. Much to his own gratification, he noticed a pink tinge in Patches’ cheeks after the third drink, and was grateful that he was not accompanying a heavy weight.

For most of the time, the two did not talk. Occasionally Arthur would glance over at Patches, and the boy would either be studying some rowdy behavior elsewhere in the tavern, or he would be staring right back at Arthur, unabashed.

After a few of these silent exchanges, Arthur began to stare back. The two were in such a quiet, studious staring contest when there was sudden hush around them.

Arthur glanced up to see what people had paused about, to find himself face to face with three Royal Navy officers. Elsewhere in the tavern, people were still carrying on, flirting, drinking, and behaving as shamelessly as usual. But for those who saw three officers stare down another supposed officer in the company of a suspicious individual, they had quieted to see what would happen.

“Mr. Kirkland, sir, we have been searching for you for hours. You were not at your station at the reported time.”

Arthur put his mug down, slowly, squinting. “Was that… right, forgot about that entirely. My apologies, I was…” he waved his hand vaguely in Patches’ direction, “caught up in other matters.”

One of the lower level officers glanced over at Patches, and then his brows furrowed in recognition as his eyes widened.

“What are you doing with a known pirate?” The officer demanded this loudly enough that a few others in the tavern paused and turned their attentions on the unfurling tense scene.

The other two officers snapped their attention towards Patches - who regarded them with a bored, quirked brow - and then back at Arthur.

“Boy owed me a drink.” Arthur slurred, as if the answer was obvious. There was some reason behind the drink, but it wasn’t coming to mind. Patches did something, but all Arthur could think of is some discussion about killing people, and that certainly wouldn’t appease the officers.

And yet, all three officers regarded Arthur then with shock, and some perplexity and disgust.

Was that not a sufficient enough answer? Arthur wondered.

“You’re dealing with pirates now?”

Arthur frowned. “I am doing no such thing. Boy… he went and… he… well, he did something, so he owes me a drink.”

“Why didn’t you arrest him?!”

“Why didn’t I…?” Arthur looked at Patches, who shrugged, barely lifting his shoulders as he did. Huh. Patches had a rather small frame, Arthur just noticed.

“Answer the question!” The front officer, a lieutenant, barked. Some of his hair was falling loose from his wig.

Arthur paused, before he realized the command was addressed at him. He tilted his head back. “There was a question?”

The officer who had recognized Patches suddenly grabbed Patches by his jacket lapel and yanked him forward.

“Have you poisoned him?” The officer snapped.

Arthur started at that, tensed. That wasn’t a good idea. Arthur wasn’t entirely sure why that wasn’t a good idea, but there was something about Patches and that officer didn’t want to mess with him…

He wanted to warn the man of such – he didn’t want anything bad happening to one of his people, after all, but the lieutenant was speaking to Arthur. 

“We’ll have to bring you in to the Commodore… and after you were let off so leniently…”

“No, no, that’s not…” Arthur tried to form the words to explain the situation, explain why confronting Patches was not a good idea, and then he noticed, in the hand behind Patches’ back, a glint of metal.

So, losing the ability to walk in a straight line, Arthur made the most ill-planned, questionable decision in his life.

He grabbed Patches’ arm and _ran_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is also posted on my account at ff.net. I know that only like... two people there read it. But I like this fanfic so I'm posting it here too. Whatever.


	2. Chapter 2

If Patches was as much of a lightweight as Arthur, they would have been caught before they even made it out the door. But as soon as Patches caught onto to Arthur’s impulsive escape plan – if it could even be called that – he took on the lead.

Patches had a small frame. The boy was also nimble. He dived and weaved his way through a mess of people all scrambling to follow the officers’ orders to catch the two. And somehow he got Arthur through the mess as well.

Arthur also wouldn’t have known which direction to go when they got out onto the street, but Patches dragged them through a narrow back alley, through the shadows, and towards the beach. There, hidden slightly by palm trees, rock outcroppings, and the setting sun, was a rowboat.

Patches practically threw Arthur into the boat, and then pushed them out into the water. He must have had a good idea of what the current and tides were like, because Patches guided the boat into a steady course away from the town.

By the time the officers had made their way down to the shore, Patches and Arthur were too far out for them to reach.

The officers raced back, most likely to fetch their own boat. But Patches and Arthur already had a head start.

They skimmed the edge of the reef, and Patches rowed perpendicular to the shore, until they came across a secluded cove.

And this was definitely not Arthur’s plan, but here he found himself anyways:

Being pulled on board the pirates’ ship.

* * *

 

“I have to go back!” Arthur exclaimed. His hair was still dripping wet and his collar was slowly soaking through from when he had shoved his head into a bucket of water, in an attempt to sober himself. Luckily, regeneration meant a fast recovery from alcohol, and he could slowly feel himself start to slip back into some form of sobriety.

Now, he was in Patches’ cabin, pacing back and forth, while a few pirates eavesdropped from outside the door. Patches sat in a cabin windowsill and watched Arthur bubble into a panicked mess.

“And do what? Turn yourself in? Reveal our location?” Patches asked in a bored tone.

“That’s what I should do! That’s what you deserve! Pirates, the lot of you! And, and, and you _stabbed_ me!”

“I thought we were even now.”

“That’s not how this works!”

Patches still sat, unaffected. “They think you’re dealing with pirates now.”

“Yes, because of my inability to explain myself properly _, thank you very much_ for getting me drunk.”

“You did that yourself. Almost impressive.” Patches looked down at his hands, and began to pick off the dirt there. “Besides, they had a point. Why didn’t you arrest me?”

Arthur stopped short.

“Well, because… I…”

Patches smiled just slightly, and without looking up from his hands, asked “Do I amuse you?”

“No!”

Patches didn’t react to that. “The offer to be our new captain is still open. And don’t worry about the details. We already voted.”

“Already… voted… they voted… for an officer who has been at their heels for years…?”

“They trust my judgment.” Patches said without a touch of doubt. It wasn’t bragging. It was a fact.

Arthur shook his head, certain he was losing all fragments of what was leftover of his sanity. He turned towards the door.

“If I go back now, I should be let off easy.”

“Again? What will they do to you?”

“At worst? Hang me, and then I’ll return to my duties and everything will be as it should. Though I am certain I’ll be pardoned, once I defend myself.”

Patches let his hand down with a sigh, and slipped off the windowsill. “Will it? Will everything be as it should? You’re entirely content with your life and duties?”

It was as if Patches could read Arthur’s mind. Arthur’s memories flashed back to the hangings and floggings, more than just the ones from the day ago. But each and every harsh punishment inflicted on people who were just trying to survive. People who were beaten and forced to serve the noble English Kingdom.

Arthur had always felt compelled to serve the Crown. That was where his loyalties were supposed to lie. But his people, he despised seeing his people kicked to the dirt. It gripped at his heart and ached in his bones like nothing else could.

Patches tilted his head, his brow arched, expectant, as if he could see all that Arthur had seen.

“They already think you’re becoming a pirate at this moment…” Patches pointed out. “Instead of trying to convince them that you’re not doing what they think you’re doing, why not do what they think you’re doing, have a little fun, and be done with it? Hm? Why not… take a chance to enact some of your own justice?”

Arthur swallowed, and slowly turned around to face Patches. “And what’s in it for you?”

“Fun, I suppose. And the opportunity to serve under someone who is undefeatable.” Patches paused. “Is there anything that can defeat you?”

Arthur blinked, and then replied honestly, deadpan, “Bringing down the English government… and all the rest of the state.”

“Huh,” Patches considered that. “Interesting response. But alright. I’ll entertain that notion.”

Seeing Arthur’s bewildered and likely somewhat apprehensive expression, Patches waved a hand. “I’m not planning on doing anything of the sort. Swear to it, on me watery grave. It sounds like too much work, anyways.”

Arthur stood there and stared at the floor. Something tugged at Arthur’s chest. Temptation? The need for retribution and justice? If he agreed, he wouldn’t be the first pirate captain to free people from whatever chains that bound them, whether literal or figurative. But could he do this? Was any nation capable of deliberately defying their government?

There was only one way to find out.

He took a step forward, and spoke slowly. “I have no intention of willfully killing any English civilians.”

Patches frowned. “I’m not certain how the crew would respond to that, but I suppose we all have our quirks.”

He then held out his hand. “So, are we in agreement?”

Arthur took another step forward. Hesitant, waiting for the consequence of his decision to hit him, tear at him. Would he crumple? No, he had defied laws before. But nothing like this.

He crossed the room at a snail’s pace, and lifted his own arm at an even slower rate.

Nothing happened. No Hell fire. No ache. Nothing inside screaming at him to turn back.

So Arthur reached forward and grasped Patches’ offered hand.

“Yes. We’re in agreement.”


	3. Chapter 3

Even three years older, Patches still had a rather boyish figure. He was still quiet and slipped around without detection, so even three years later, he still startled Arthur when he appeared behind the captain unannounced.

Fast amassing a fleet of former Navy sailors, freed slaves, and assembled rag tag adventurers, Captain Kirkland was quickly becoming the most feared, most powerful pirate of the Atlantic.

So Patches respected his captain’s dignity just enough not to boast of his ability to sneak up on Arthur. It didn’t smooth Patches’ vanity any bit, though. There was a playful look in his eye.

Once Arthur was able to catch his breath, he turned a glare on his quartermaster. He put his quill down, from where he was taking account of their latest plunder. This was work he liked to focus on, so he could be sure each crewmember received his due share. It could be difficult, even with careful numbers. The more pirates, the more plunder. But the more pirates, the smaller the share for each individual. There was only so much respect Arthur could garner through his menacing, legendary presence.

Patches interrupting did little in improving Arthur’s mood.

“ _Yes_?” Arthur growled. 

“The crew’s been talking.” Patches leaned against Arthur’s desk, and tugged at a loose thread on his sleeve.

Arthur frowned. If his crew was talking and weren’t including him in the discussion, then that wasn’t a good sign.

“What about?”

“They’ve been wondering why you play such favoritism with the English.” Patches glanced at Arthur. “Of course, I know why, but I assumed that wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“I appreciate that.” Arthur said, and then he sighed. “What can I do? Are they not content with plundering ships and leaving the civilians be?”

Patches shrugged. “Something about you letting them do whatever they like with the French and Spaniards. You know, you really should examine your prejudice with these nations.”

“Absolutely. I’ll try to erase decades of warfare from history.”

“Likely the best course of action.”

“Do you have anything helpful to suggest?”

Patches pretended to think – Arthur could tell because the man would always tap his chin and look up to the ceiling and hum dramatically. When Patches was actually thinking, he tilted his head.

“Forget it. If you won’t be helpful, I’ll figure it out myself.”

“You wound me.”

Arthur waved towards the door. “Leave me to my work.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

* * *

 

Two months later, two of Captain Kirkland’s ships intercepted an English merchant vessel.

Finally prepared for this, Arthur gave his standard ultimatum. Those who wanted to join his crew would be spared, those who didn’t would be left be.

But this time, Arthur added a twist. He had the ships sail to a nearby island. A sandy trap, the only vegetation some sparse palm trees and grasses. Nothing to use for survival. All those who had refused to join the pirates were to be marooned.

Arthur’s pirates cheered with delight at the prospect. The captain and higher end officers of the merchant ship were dumped off in the water, while the rest of the crew were crammed into a rowboat and forced to sail towards shore.

It was the perfect entertainment, and Arthur’s pirates reveled in their chance to jeer and threaten as they pleased.

Fortunately, no one noticed when Arthur sent off an anonymous message to the nearest fort, giving the exact directions to the stranded merchant crew.

His pirates’ loyalty was assured, and no English civilian perished in the process.

Plus, they acquired a new ship.

Captain Kirkland’s fleet continued to grow.

With Patches finally helping, Arthur continued to devise ways of making it look like he was happily attacking nationalities equally, but giving outs for as many civilians as he could. A year into this, he decided, just out of fairness, to give even some other European civilians escape opportunities.

Yet only Patches knew how Arthur was truly playing the game.

To the rest of the world, Captain Kirkland was slowly descending into a mad cruelty.

To Patches, Arthur was a big softie who still couldn’t handle his liquor.

* * *

 

Plundering French ships was a shameless favorite of Arthur’s.

When his men spotted two trade ships being escorted by an admiral’s ship, bound West, the temptation was too good to pass up. Three of Captain Kirkland’s fleet had wandered north, intercepting trade between the North American colonies and Europe.

The plunder wasn’t worth as much as Spanish gold or silver, but there was a taste of variety. Besides, not all treasure had to sparkle and shine. After months at sea, Arthur was discovering that tea had become a luxury.

So they rounded on the French ships, and with very little resistance from the admiral’s ship, Captain Kirkland’s pirates were boarding the three ships.

Arthur went straight for the captain’s quarters, where the most value was hidden away.

He threw the doors open and a man flew out at him, sword already at the ready.

Arthur jumped back and blocked the jabbed offense. His eyes then widened in recognition, and an excited croon bubbled from him.

“Well, well, Francis! Fancy meeting you here!”

Francis took a moment to recognize his assailant in turn, but when he did, his jaw dropped.

“ _Arthur_?”

“Captain Kirkland!” Arthur corrected with a sneer.

Francis glanced around at all the pirates and the three ships. “Not commodore?”

“Captain sounds better.”

“What… what have you been doing?” Francis demanded, his voice coming out high pitched.

“What does it look like? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like a peek at what your captain has been harboring from his crew.” Arthur stepped forward towards the cabin, but Francis threw his sword out, blocking his path.

“Are you mad?”

“Perhaps.” Arthur swiped his own sword at Francis, who parried. Adrenaline rushed through Arthur. He had not had a proper duel with Francis in far too long. He let his excitement and years of fighting instinct take over as he stepped forward for another offense.

Francis held back, just out of range. Arthur would make a move, and Francis would back up and deflect it with the end of his sword. The two wandered into the cabin, which was Arthur’s goal, but Francis’ lack of fighting spirit was annoying and distracting Arthur from his initial endeavor.

“The fight flown out of you so soon?” Arthur taunted. “We are at war after all.”

“Yes,” Francis sidestepped another of Arthur’s attacks. “That’s the problem. You’ve been absent since before the start of this war, off doing God knows what.”

“Oh, do you miss me that much? I’m flattered.”

Francis frowned, and then in a sudden step forward, deflected Arthur’s sword and pushed Arthur back in one forceful move. “No. Frankly, I was quite pleased at first to not have to face your mug in battle… but that was before. Now… I’m concerned.”

The confession caused Arthur to hesitate, for just a moment, but then he pushed back and threw them back into the fight. They swept back and forth across the room, Francis now fighting seriously, the two in range of each other’s blades.

“Come now, like you’ve never imagined having just a bit of fun against your government’s wishes.” Arthur grinned. “Just a spot of rebellion?”

“Not when I have Matthieu to return to.”

“Matthew?”

“Yes, Matthieu. As you should be aware, my colony, my _charge_ , my _responsibility_.” Francis stressed his voice so that Arthur could easily hear him over the growing chaos out on the deck. “Have you even inquired of America lately? Of Alfred?”

Arthur really paused at that, and for a second he held back. But then he shook his head and snarled. “Alfred’s strong. He can look after himself just fine. I’m doing this to protect my people.”

“Protect?” Francis’ eyes widened in incredulity. “You call what you’ve been doing as protection? You call plundering, marooning, and threatening your own citizens… attacking Royal ships, as protecting your people? You’re losing yourself, Arthur! This isn’t right! This is not what we were created for!”

Arthur screamed and attacked viciously, the teasing swordplay forgotten. Francis nearly tripped over himself in his quick need to truly defend himself. Murderous intent was now flashing in Arthur’s eyes.

“What do you know of what’s right or not? Who are you to declare the intent of God?” Arthur pushed them towards the wall, and Francis scrambled to slip out of Arthur’s reach. “You don’t… you don’t see the cruelty they call justice. I,” Arthur punctuated each word with a fast swipe, “Am. Doing. This. _For. My._ _People_!” 

Not seeing what was behind him, Francis tripped over a box and went sprawling out along the floor. Francis tried to get back up, but Arthur was faster. Not giving Francis a moment to run away, Arthur rushed in with his blade and ended the fight there.

Breathing heavily, he watched Francis’ body slump to the floor.

Then Arthur’s sword dropped from his hand, and his breath caught in his throat. Realization of what he had just done crashed over him like a wave of freezing sea water.

Arthur took a step back.

He and Francis liked to fight. That was certain. They had threatened to kill each other countless times. But their duels usually didn’t go this far. No, not unless there was something to prove, something to die for.

What had Arthur become?


	4. Chapter 4

"I need to go do something." Arthur told Patches when Patches came in to give Arthur his dinner.

Patches handed Arthur the standard, stale ship grub, and tilted his head. Arthur had been hauntingly quiet the past few days, even since they had attacked those French ships. Without question, Patches had taken on the temporary role of captain, while Arthur sat in his cabin and stared at the ceiling.

Now that Arthur was willing to speak, Patches was quite curious.

"In the American colonies. I have business I need to attend to." Arthur explained.

"Inland?"

"Yes."

Patches picked some suspicious part off his bread, and then ripped off a piece and dipped it into his rum – just to soften it – before popping it into his mouth.

"Will the crew be willing to join?"

"No. And I need to do this on my own." Arthur poked at his food with a pensive frown. "Except you. I only want you to accompany me."

"Very well."

* * *

Soon after coming ashore, Arthur took himself and Patches to a shop he was familiar with, where he knew no one would ask any questions. The two wiped their faces, washed their hands, and then Arthur purchased fragrances for the both of them to mask the scent of years at sea.

Once they were somewhat presentable, Arthur had them measured for clothes. Patches refrained from asking any questions. He just let the tailor measure and prod at him.

The two then stayed in a nearby inn until their clothes were ready.

When Arthur looked at himself in the dim mirror, it was as if the past few years had been washed from his ledger. He took a moment to recognize himself. And this was how he used to look. Patches truly transformed with his new suit. He had always been a rather handsome man, even in ragged clothes and dirt smeared skin. But now he appeared ready to swagger through the city streets.

They found a carriage that would take them to Philadelphia. It was a relatively new town, a fraction the size of London. At this point, it was primarily a small collection of houses and shops. But there was a certain promise about it that Arthur liked.

Patches dutifully followed Arthur through the town and to a house that sat right on the outskirts.

When Arthur knocked on the door, a young, plump woman answered.

She appeared perplexed by the presence of guests, but Arthur placed his hat to his chest and dipped his head.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Pearson, I presume? I am Arthur Kirkland."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Kirkland, sir! Very pleased to make your acquaintance as well." The woman curtsied. "Do come inside. Shall I tell Alfred you're here, then?"

"Yes, please."

Arthur and Patches entered the small, modest house. Miss Pearson gestured them towards the receiving area, where the two sat down.

"He's outside in the yard, digging around. Would you like some tea while you wait?"

"Yes, please." Arthur said again.

Patches studied the both of them interchangeably, his head tilted.

Miss Pearson beamed, and left to likely retrieve both Alfred and the tea.

Soon the two men could hear the unmistakable sound of a child interrupted from his play. A young boy whined about not being  _that_  dirty, and Miss Pearson responded with a sharp command to clean off the dirt anyways.

Miss Pearson returned some time after with the tea and some biscuits. Before she had even set the tray down, Patches grabbed a biscuit and shoved it in his mouth.

The housekeeper stared at him.

Arthur coughed loudly. "My apologies, Miss Pearson. My companion is a sailor, and he has not seen such quality food in so long. Your biscuits look delicious."

Miss Pearson blushed, effectively swayed. "Why, thank you, Mr. Kirkland."

"Is that Arthur!?" The young voice sounded from the back of the house.

And then there was a little boy, appearing no older than five, sprinting out and flinging himself at Arthur.

To everyone's surprise, Arthur caught the boy and reigned him in.

There was still a little bit of dirt smudged across the boy's nose, but Arthur let the boy cling to him.

"Yes, yes, hello, Alfred. It's good to see you again too."

Miss Pearson melted into a blissful smile. "Isn't that sweet? You know, he missed you while you were gone. You haven't sent a letter in so long."

Arthur's gaze lowered in shame.

"Yes, you haven't written!" Alfred accused. The boy broke off the hug and stood on the couch. Arthur  _tsked_  and forced Alfred to sit down, but the boy continued to bounce in his seat.

"I know. I am deeply sorry for that."

"It's alright." Alfred smiled. "I'm just happy you're here now."

"I am too. Have you been good for Miss Pearson?"

"Absolutely." Alfred answered too quickly.

Both Arthur and Miss Pearson chuckled.

Alfred then noticed that there was another person in the room. He turned on Patches.

"Hello. Who are you?"

Patches, who had been watching the entire exchange with pinched brows and a head tilting so far to the side, his ear was nearing his shoulder, glanced down at Alfred. He said nothing.

Arthur gasped. "Alfred, your manners."

"Oh, right, sorry. How are you? What's your name? You smell like seawater and flowers," Alfred then interrupted himself and whipped around to face Arthur. "I'm looking for a certain kind of flower!"

"What now?"

"They're blue and have five petals, and come in little bunches!"

"Blue with five petals… do you mean forget-me-nots?"

"Forget… me… nots…" Alfred tried out the name of the flower, and then he nodded. "That sounds right."

"And you're looking for this flower?"

"Yes!"

"I'm sorry, Alfred. Forget-me-nots don't grow here in America naturally."

"They don't?" Alfred's face fell, and he slumped down into the couch.

"They grow in England, though." Arthur tipped his head down, and nudged Alfred's chin up. "I can bring you some."

Alfred bounced right back up so fast Arthur had to jerk his head back so that Alfred wouldn't hit his face. "You would? Oh please, please!"

"Alright," Arthur chuckled.

"Promise?"

"Promise." He ruffled Alfred's hair. Alfred beamed, and then threw himself into Arthur for another hug. Arthur reciprocated the embrace, and then glanced up at Patches, who was still staring at the both of them.

Making sure that neither Alfred nor Miss Pearson saw, Arthur held Alfred tighter a moment, and then shot as threatening of a 'touch him and you'll regret it,' warning look as he possibly could. It wasn't that he didn't trust Patches. He did. He trusted Patches to be a good quartermaster, a good pirate.

Patches understood immediately. He nodded minutely.

Arthur also trusted Patches to follow orders. Not once had the man gone behind him. Patches would excuse it as not being stupid enough to cross an immortal. But whatever were Patches' reasons were for remaining loyal, Arthur would accept the result.

So without any objection, Patches accepted that Alfred was to be protected at all costs.

Miss Pearson, unintentionally, interrupted their quiet exchange.

"Would you like to stay the night?"

"No, we have business we must return to," Arthur admitted reluctantly.

Alfred pouted.

"But we have time to stay for supper, if you'll have us."

"Absolutely!"

* * *

Supper lasted late into the evening. Alfred had begun to dip into sleep at the table, so Arthur had offered to tuck him in bed.

Besides politely answering a few of Miss Pearson's attempts at conversation with him, Patches still said nothing the entire time.

Much later, when Alfred and Patches had found a late night carriage back to the shore, did Patches finally speak.

"He's like you."

Arthur glanced at Patches. "Yes."

"Him existing… what does that mean for the colonies?"

Arthur breathed in the country air filtering into the carriage, and stared out at the rolling fields that they were passing.

"It's still too early to determine… but… his existence… is promising."

The two lapsed back into silence for a moment, Patches forming questions in his head.

Years ago, Arthur had explained to Patches the exact reason behind his immortality. Patches' curiosity had been starting to become unbearable. At Patches insisting, Arthur had explained how he, Francis, and others existed. He had explained how their inexplicable connection with their people brought them great ecstasy during good times, but also great pain during the bad times. He recounted the stories he had been told of Rome's slow, decaying demise, how the shock of it had rippled through Europe and the Mediterranean the moment they all realized that  _that was that_ , and he was  _truly gone_.

Arthur had never mentioned Alfred. And because Patches never asked, he never spoke of how people like him were born, or where they even came from. If anyone even knew. He never talked about the family-like ties that they all formed, just to feel a little less lonely.

But Patches asked now. So Arthur told him as much as he knew and understood.

Finally, after Patches had learned more than the average mortal about the lives of living, breathing states, he brought the subject around to Miss Pearson.

Arthur sighed. "I hire a new housekeeper to look after Alfred every ten years. At this point, I need not meet the woman, only read her recommendations."

When it was clear Patches required further explanation, Arthur admitted, in a low voice, "I… I know it's inevitable. But he's young. He still doesn't interact much with others save for myself and his housekeepers. He hasn't experienced death yet."

Patches nodded, and then leaned back into his seat, finally satisfied. He hummed. "If the crew could see you now."

Arthur laughed a short, humorless laugh. "There's a reason I only brought you along."

Patches stared at Arthur for a very long time, straight-faced, studious, like usual. But then, very gradually, a softness smoothed out his brows and a genuine innocence graced his expression.

"Thank you." He said.

* * *

There was a great and immediate dissent from the crew when Arthur voiced his plans.

"Run the shore of the mainland? Are you mad?" One pirate protested.

"Fleet or not, the Crown will have us all strung up by nightfall." Another pointed out.

There was a chorus of agreements. Arthur had to shout above the cacophony to be heard.

"Anyone who does not want to come does not have to!"

He was met with silence, and then it grew into muttering.

"Alright, anyone who does not want to join, take a step back. All those who are willing, step forward!" Patches barked out.

The muttering wavered in volume, pirates all glanced at each other, and then, as if part of one movement, they all stepped back.

There was a moment of awkward shuffling, and then five stepped forward.

Arthur frowned. He had actually been expecting less than this. Seven was just fine of a number for a discreet mission, after all.

It was also a suicide mission, and everyone knew it.

Arthur had secretly named someone to be the new captain of his own ship – the other ships had been long accounted for. The person would need to be voted on, but Arthur was confident that the crew would accept his pick. Patches would vouch for the man, if all else failed.

But as quiet as he tried to be about it, word had gotten around.

So everyone knew that Arthur was deliberately planning a mission he wasn't even sure he'd even succeed.

Only Patches knew the entire truth.

That the entire plan was for one thing.

One damned pot of flowers.

* * *

Arthur and his six men took the fleet's sloop. It was the smallest vessel and the best choice for the particular mission.

Arthur had tried to convince Patches not to come. He tried to argue about how stupid it would be, and ' _you don't ever want to be stupid_ ,' but Patches refused to stay behind. He stuck to one argument, no matter how many times Arthur cleverly refuted it – 'They might try to elect me captain.'

The damned fool.

So this mission was Arthur, Patches, and the five daring souls that Arthur swore he would forever admire and be grateful for. Two were former Navy sailors, forever grateful to Arthur for freeing them from their watery prison. One was a Dutchman who had wandered into the crew one day, and no one had questioned it. One was usually drunk, enjoying the lavish life, but he could be depended on in a crisis. The final pirate joining them was a woman. At first, she had disguised herself as a man, until Patches found her out.

No one was allowed to protest a woman being onboard. Soon after, she had been joined by others.

This was Arthur's crew. And Arthur tried not to think too hard on this potentiality, but this was likely his last pirate crew.

* * *

There were ships patrolling the English Channel, separating the two war enemies. So Arthur steered them the long way up to fall along the coast from the Northwest. The only downfall was that one of Arthur's greater ships had to tow the sloop close enough to the isles for the sloop to sail on its own.

A sloop was fairly easy to hide. A hundred gun warship, not as well.

It was also hard to hide his intentions when rumors had already spread across the ocean from ship to ship.

The rest of the crew was able to retreat soon enough, but a chance Navy ship had caught Arthur's trail.

Arthur and his small crew hugged the shore, taking advantage and simultaneously being wary of the fog and rocks. He couldn't land just anywhere. He had to land where he knew he would find the specific flowers.

But the Navy ship, as much as they were able to navigate the area better, was starting to gain on them.

They kept as steady of a course as they could, trying not to run up on the sandbars. Steady, steady,  _steady_ …

Finally. Yes, here, drop anchor.

All seven pirates armed themselves with swords and pistols. But the moment they made their way on land, there was little point.

Arthur found what he was looking for, a field of forget-me-nots, when the sailors discovered them. They had soldiers as reinforcement.

The pirates put up a bold fight, two of the five volunteers going down bravely. The rest were clasped in irons and dragged to the Royal ship, to be thrown into the brig, there to await their due justice.

* * *

The three volunteers who had survived the fight were dropped off at the nearest city, to be tried and dealt with there.

Arthur and Patches were carried on to London.

* * *

William III was not there to see Arthur, nor was he interested in seeing Arthur, as a top advisor claimed. The advisor stared down at Arthur is disdain.

"If you tell us where the rest of your dirty crew is, then we may consider you pardoned." The advisor offered in a rough sneer.

Arthur spat at his feet.

The two were thrown into the Tower for the night.

* * *

They were both retrieved at the first rays of sunlight the following morning.

A man with an official scroll read out the ruling.

Arthur strained to listen. They had not fed or watered either him or Patches since they had been captured, which was days ago. Arthur was feeling lightheaded, he could barely sit up straight. He knew Patches couldn't have been faring better. All he could tell was that they were reading Patches' sentence.

"… for crimes against… leading… former captain… a Mr. Smith…"

He couldn't make out much else, and it didn't help that the man reading the scroll seemed quite grouchy to be awake so early. But then the man neared the end, to the sentence, and these words were clear.

"… is sentenced to be hung until dead."

"No!" Arthur shot up, but two guards grabbed him and yanked him back to the floor. On any other day, Arthur could easily throw two measly guards off. But he was weak from the fight, from not eating, from the worry.

"No! No!" Arthur continued to shout, his throat hoarse.

He watched, struggling against the men towering over him, as Patches was dragged up from the floor.

"No! Do anything you want to me! Let him go free!"

Patches head lolled over, and he afforded Arthur a long, empty expression as he was removed from the cell.

"Please!" Arthur begged.

Patches smiled a weak, but genuine smile.

Then, so quietly that Arthur could barely hear him, Patches offered one last tease, "At least I'm not immortal. It's what you wanted, right?"

"No," Arthur choked.

But there was not enough time for Patches to respond.

Because Patches was dragged away from Arthur's sight, forever.

* * *

Arthur was sentenced to imprisonment for a year.

At the bottom of the sea.

As his legs were restrained to a weight, and three burly men prepared to throw him into the depths, the same advisor from before almost seemed gleeful.

"This will teach you to never defy the Crown or Parliament ever again."

* * *

As an immortal, usually, a year was a blink of an eye to Arthur.

But at the bottom of the sea, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto conciseness, enduring days and nights – when he could barely tell the two apart – of pain splitting his head and chest, before he finally slipped away for an hour, maybe two if he was lucky…

That year felt like, for once, a century.

* * *

In rare moments of clarity, when Arthur was panicking less about being crushed by the weight of the water and the lack of air, he thought of Alfred.

Even when it seemed like he would never truly survive the ordeal, Arthur thought of Alfred and reminded himself.

He promised Alfred those flowers.

* * *

Even after Arthur was pulled from the sea, he was restrained to England. It wasn't until the onslaught of the war with Spain that he was allowed to leave the mainland, and even then, it was under strict supervision.

Arthur never tried anything. He fought as he was ordered to.

When the war concluded, and his government reassured of his loyalty, Arthur was finally allowed to visit the colonies again.

* * *

He took the flowers with him. Just as he promised.


End file.
